


Bruce, Paul, and Jean-Tarzan.

by GraceEliz



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Tarzan - Edgar Rice Burroughs
Genre: AU - 1908, Follows Book Canon, Gen, Paul is the Dad Friend, The entire disney tarzan approach hurts my heart, bc DC has no canon, it's Paul erasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23298304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceEliz/pseuds/GraceEliz
Summary: First awareness was the urge to cough; second that of bright light; third that wherever the pirates had dumped him he was in unfamiliar land with unknown predators and variables. The jungle grew to the sky, starting with a very few shorter shrubs on the sandy knoll he lay on. Exerting great effort, he hauled himself upright and saw what he had suspected to be: they had dumped him on the beach, just above the tideline, with nothing to his name and no indication of where he was or how long he’d been there.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Tarzan & Paul d'Arnot
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Bruce, Paul, and Jean-Tarzan.

**Author's Note:**

> Disney Tarzan gives me an aneurysm every time I try to watch it. The Legend of Tarzan (2016) is awesome, however. Opinions can and will be given. Check out my tumblr for more of those.... @GraaaaceEliz

First awareness was the urge to cough; second that of bright light; third that wherever the pirates had dumped him he was in unfamiliar land with unknown predators and variables. The jungle grew to the sky, starting with a very few shorter shrubs on the sandy knoll he lay on. Exerting great effort, he hauled himself upright and saw what he had suspected to be: they had dumped him on the beach, just above the tideline, with nothing to his name and no indication of where he was or how long he’d been there. One thing that was for certain, however, was that he was stuck on this forbidding new land for better or more likely worse for the foreseeable future, short as that future appeared to be.

Setting himself firm, Bruce hauled himself painfully to his feet, head swinging like a night on the town, and set off treading North in search of fresh water. The temperature of the air and the angle of the sun indicated that it was late afternoon, probably around six, not that he could really tell, and that he was facing West. Soft white sand shifted underfoot, and despite the stress of the situation he found himself trying to remember the last time he’d been in a place so beautiful, so immersed in nature and free from human interference. It must have been some time, he mused as he flipped a twig with his shoe, considering he’d spent the last four years in Boston. It would have been in Nanda Parbat, with his dear departed Talia, where the deserts stretch out like a soft rolling sea and the dawn sun sparkles off the dew. 

Of to his right – the East – stretched the forbidding beautiful expanse of what he assumed to be African jungle. On his left, the West, the endless Atlantic Ocean. What a fine kettle of fish he’s caught this time.

It only took a couple of hour’s walking before he encountered a brook, tumbling over shining stones down to the incoming waves. Idyllic. Still problematic, however, as night was fast approaching with no place revealing itself as a safe haven – although that’s a suspiciously broken stretch of undergrowth up ahead. Pressing on Bruce reached it in a matter of minutes, discovering uncomfortably that at some point very recently a group of men – women too, maybe – had inhabited this little clearing. 

“Godammit,” he swore loudly, just because he can, “I should not have taken this job.”

“Mon ami,” came a voice from the dark looming blur at the back of the clearing, “You should not swear so.”

Bruce felt entirely justified in shrieking.

The voice just laughed at him.

“Tarzan,” and oh, marvellous, this unknown entity not only had a friend but was French. Bruce did not speak much French. In fact, his last attempt at French got him very nearly thrown from the restaurant Alfred had treated him to for his 25th birthday. Bruce picked up a few words such as ‘careful’ and ‘scare’, and thought that whoever this Tarzan that he couldn’t see was, he must have been being gently scolded for frightening him. He could feel sharp hidden eyes on him.

Out of the dark hobbled a man, not older than forty but struggling to walk and covered in horrible looking scars and scratches. Bruce darted forwards to lend his arm but a blur from one of the trees hit him full-on, barreling him backwards to the ground. As his ears cleared his eyes refocused and he saw a man, a white man, wild looking, face full of threat.

“AGH! I’m sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt – uh – lo siento, no, wait, um,” he stumbled to a verbal halt, eyes caught in the hard grey of this wild-man’s. He blinked first (an uncommon experience, given Talia lived with ninjas and Bruce had out-stared several of them).

The wild-man, Tarzan, grinned like a child at Christmas. “Bonjour.”

All in all, Bruce’s faint was understandable and justified.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts as always accepted! Comments are adored. Fic recs ft Paul will earn you my undying adoration.


End file.
